


End of it All

by RileyChaser



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 14:54:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29352306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyChaser/pseuds/RileyChaser
Summary: It is the end of the world.
Relationships: Tobin Heath/Christen Press
Comments: 26
Kudos: 146





	End of it All

It was the end of it all, the world, existence, everything, and the only thing on Tobin's mind was going to building 319 on the corner of 4th and Frederick and waiting on the long elevator ride up to the fourth floor and the smell of the well-maintained carpet and the feel of the wood against her knuckles as she knocked on the door of apartment 402. She could see her breath as she rounded the corner of the brick building, its red color dark in the eclipse of the light; she had a quick flash of memory of the way the rough stones felt against her back when she was pushed into them, before a night of passion she shared with someone she thought was just her best friend. But they weren't best friends, not just, not with the way she rushed over from her place to see her. It was the end of it all, and she ran the fifteen blocks south, two blocks west, and ended up in the one place she didn't realize she needed to be. 

The building was quiet despite the city being on fire. The man who usually greeted her at the door was no longer smiling at her as she walked in, trying to pretend like she wasn't desperate to see that one pair of eyes light up, hopeful that they did light up. Tobin always thought the doorman knew how she felt like maybe he had some kind of doorman sense about all of it. Maybe it was in the way her eyes never left the woman who lived in the building, or maybe it was the way she was always a little on edge, trying to hide how she felt, but somehow he must have known. But tonight, he was gone, and that wasn't a surprise. 

She walked to the elevator, her hands stuck in her hoodie pocket, though she was regretting not wearing something more… end of the world, whatever that meant. It didn't matter, though; nothing mattered besides getting to the fourth floor. This elevator was always so slow, normally that was a good thing, more time in an enclosed space together, and she could always smell perfume, and it made her head spin, but she was alone for this ride and desperate for the doors to pull apart. The beep almost shocked her. She jumped out the doors before they had a chance to fully open. 

Making her way down the dimly lit hallway, she remembered the rush she felt that night, the one single night when they broke a rule, and they rushed down this hallway, laughing between chased kisses, keys jangling as she tried to push them into the slot too fast. It was funny, and maddening, and sweet all at once. The need to move fast before they lost their nerve, like now, as she rushed down the long stretch and got to the door. 

It was okay to hesitate for a second; she wasn't doubting what she was doing; she was doubting the hope in her heart because, in the back of her mind, this might turn out to be a bigger disaster than the one they were currently facing. It was worth it, even if she was turned down and turned away, it was worth it just to see her. Even if they sat across the room from each other, it was worth it to breathe in the air she breathed as the world came to an end. 

The knocks sounded hallow, and she had a fleeting thought that maybe Christen wouldn't be there, that maybe she had left to go see someone else, and all of this was some stupid idea. Maybe she imagined it all, the way they felt about each other. It was one night, one quick frantic night. An hour of the most amazing time she ever had, followed by the idea that it was all a mistake. It was the look in those eyes, her favorite pair of marbled greens, the look that said it was a mistake that made Tobin rush to put her clothes on and leave without a word. But here she was, and she was hoping, and it was starting to build up in the pit of her stomach, and she was about to run when the door swung open.

"Tobin." 

She looked up, her jaw-dropping open, but no words coming out. Quickly, she shook away the negative thoughts and cleared her throat, "Hey… Hi… Uh, hey."

Christen watched as she struggled to find the words and decided to put her out of her misery, "Come in."

"Thanks," Tobin said with a quick smile, then followed the girl into the apartment, closing the door behind her. 

"This is it," Christen said casually. That's how everyone was now that everything was confirmed, casual about the idea of it being the last days.

She was standing in the middle of the living room, staring down at the couch that she probably should have sat down on, but was too nervous to do much of anything. "I thought maybe you would've gone to LA or something."

"Do you want a beer?" she moved towards the kitchen, listening for confirmation. 

Tobin watched her as she moved. She always watched her when she moved, "Sure, yeah, I'll take a beer or something stronger."

"I have stronger," she shrugged. 

The television was on but muted, the lights dancing in the room, the countdown in big red letters, coming from a news station, with no anchors to say the numbers. No one was at work, why would you be? The lights were dimmed, the air conditioning on low, giving the air a slight chill, yet Christen was in a pair of shorts and a sweater with a drop shoulder. She looked amazing, but then again, she always did. 

Tobin processed the sound of glasses clinking and a cork stopper being pulled, that distinctive sound that meant you were going to be a little tipsy in a few minutes. That was good. She needed to be a little tipsy for this, but not drunk, she wanted to experience this, remember for the short time that she would have the privilege of thinking about her. If only until the numbers on the screen hit zero, that was the amount of time she wanted to spend thinking about Christen. 

And there she was, the most beautiful girl in the entire world, looking as grim as ever, and Tobin's heart fell just a bit. She wasn't expecting Christen to be cheerful; she wasn't expecting any happiness in the world. No one was obligated to be happy now, but she wanted to be. That was selfish in a way. It was selfless in another, depending on how long you spent thinking about it, rationalizing with yourself the way you do when you're gearing up to convince someone of a bad idea for a good cause. 

"Whiskey," Christen said, pushing a short pour glass into Tobin's hand. "That good stuff. No point in saving it now."

"Thank you," it sounded formal, but that's how Tobin was when she was nervous, formal, cordial, understanding, and repetitive. "You didn't try to go home?"

Christen sat down on the couch, taking a draw from her drink, kicking her long legs up on the coffee table. She tucked the drink close to her body and looked up at the television, her eyes going wide as a five changed to a four, and there was even less time now. 

"You know my dad bought me this bottle when I made the national team." She looked at the dark auburn colored liquid in the clear glass and took another sip. "He told me not to open it until I retired." She held the glass up. "Happy retirement."

Tobin sat on the couch, leaving a cushion length of space between them, "Happy everything, I guess."

She wasn't going to mention home again. If someone avoids a question twice, they don't want to talk about it. Honestly, it would be a waste of time trying to get Christen to talk about why she was sitting on the couch sipping whiskey instead of at her childhood home with her family. It was the same reason Tobin was in Oregon and not New Jersey. No flights. If you didn't leave two weeks ago, you weren't going to get a flight. If you didn't pack up your car and start driving last week, you weren't going anywhere.

"It's funny," Christen said, her eyes focused on the screen. "A year ago, this was all a joke. This whole thing was memes and funny Twitter comments. Now…" she drained her glass, wincing a bit as she swallowed. "Now the only thing playing on every single channel, the only thing on all news feeds is this stupid countdown."

"They're all synced," Tobin said without knowing exactly why. Maybe they were talking about it without talking about it, and this was Christen's way of coping. "I checked. Every clock is perfectly synced to the second."

Christen stood up quickly. She wasn't exactly tall, but she looked long. She had long legs and arms. A long torso. Her neck was long. Her hair always poured over her shoulders. 

"Do you want another drink?"

Looking down at her own glass Tobin realized she had yet to take a sip. So she drank the entire thing in two swallows and handed Christen the glass. 

She stayed on the couch, not looking back as Christen headed towards the kitchen. It was haunting, the idea that no one took this seriously until about a month ago. It had been the end of the world for so long; when it was finally real, it almost seemed like a dream. It had to be. Right? 

She was thirty-one, and she had lived through the end of the world about five times already. How was she supposed to know this one was real? How was anyone supposed to know that this was not a drill? This wasn't a prank. This wasn't a threat. This was God, and he was done with all your shit, and he was wiping the slate clean. 

Tobin sat with her hands neatly folded in her lap for a good long while, it may have only been a minute, but every second felt like ten minutes when you only had a few of them left. She sat quietly. She didn't have anything to say, nothing to improve upon the silence, so she just didn't speak. It was deathly quiet in the apartment, the gentle blow of the air conditioning, but nothing else. Until.

Shooting up from the couch, Tobin looked over to see Christen with her hands pressed into the marble countertops, her head down, shaking ever so slightly. She was weeping, quietly, personally, considerately. And Tobin knew that feeling. She cried an hour ago. She cried until she had no more tears. She cried alone in her apartment, sitting on her bedroom floor, her back pushed against her bedframe. She cried long and hard until she didn't cry anymore, and she made the conscious choice to come here. 

Standing in the living room, tucking her hands back in her hoodie pocket, Tobin waited for Christen to stop crying. As she did, as she reached up to wipe her hand under her eyes, Christen let out a long, deep sigh, the kind that expressed your acceptance of a terrible unchangeable situation. She stood stick straight for about ten seconds, then relaxed and poured the drinks. 

Tobin waited patiently. She waited loyally. She waited like a dog waits for its master. On her run over here, she sealed an idea in her mind, she was here for Christen. She had been here for Christen for years. There has always been this idea that maybe she was made for Christen. There had always been this feeling inside that maybe all her parts were specifically put together, and her soul shoved inside this meat machine for the singular purpose of making Christen happy. It was an idea that sat with her at night before she fell asleep. It was something she thought about on long bus rides and flights to places she couldn't remember. She thought maybe if there was someone who created humans, that specifically made them in an exact way, without mistakes, without a number out of place in the rows of information, without a single error, that that person made her after they made Christen, and they constructed her to make sure Christen Press had someone in this world that would make sure everything was okay. 

This was an idea that she never floated past a single person. Something she kept inside, kept close, kept locked away in a box. For years she thought she had time. She thought she had all the time in the world to help Christen slowly come to the same conclusion she had. She told herself the second Christen knew, the very moment she realized that Tobin was utterly and completely hers, she could spend the rest of her life making sure Christen never felt alone, or scared, or hopeless ever again. But now she didn't have time, or she did, but it wasn't enough, or it was.

"I went for a run yesterday," Christen said casually as she brought the almost full glasses over to the still standing Tobin. "I have no idea why, but I went for a three-mile run."

"Habit," Tobin shrugged. She took the glass and took a drink. 

After taking a long drink, Christen flashed the first smile of the night. "I feel like I'm on some strange autopilot. Like I know what's going to happen, but instead of doing things, I'm just _doing things._ " She made her way over to the couch and sat back down. "It's not normal."

"Nothing is," Tobin confirmed as she sat down back in her spot.

"This is," Christen said, pointing to Tobin, then to herself. "You here with me, that's normal."

This was it, her chance. She had a choice. She could spend the rest of their lives with all of this inside, or she could be brave for once and blurted it all out. 

"No, it's not," Tobin said with as much courage as a Spartan staring down the Persian Army. "It's not normal because I didn't come here to be your friend. I came here because I love you. I am in love with you." She set her glass down on the coffee table and turned in the seat. "I have loved you since I can remember, and I have always been too afraid to break what we have, and I've never said anything, but I refuse to die without saying it. I love you, Christen."

She was proud of herself, but her heart sank as Christen stared at her with a blank look on her face. The silence was painful, cutting into her as every precious second ticked by. With every blink of those darkening eyes, Tobin felt herself sinking. She felt smaller, but her head felt bigger, and her heart stopped beating, and she wished for that stupid countdown clock to just finish already. 

"You're an asshole," Christen said in an even flat voice. "You wait until there are less than five hours left to tell me this. Fuck you."

Christen stood up, leaving Tobin on the couch. She rushed to the door and opened it. Tobin looked up and into the empty hallway.

"Get out Tobin," She stood with her hand on the door, determination in her eyes. 

"What?" she stood up. "You're kicking me out? Why? I don't understand."

"What don't you understand about the words Get Out?" 

Panic rises in someone faster than any other emotion. It takes over your entire body, it flushes your system, cleaning out all other feelings you might have, and replaces it with panic and nothing but. It's overwhelming and makes you feel like you are falling, flapping your arms in the air, praying you turn into a bird. But you're not a bird. You're nothing but two seconds from dying. 

"I'm sorry." It was a rush of words.

It was a rush of air from her lungs to the air outside. A rush of oxygen, water vapor, nitrogen, argon, carbon dioxide, and some other gasses that she couldn't remember, flowing down her trachea into her bronchi, filling the alveoli, converting, and expelling nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide, and argon that made up the next flow of words. 

"Just pretend I didn't say anything. I'm sorry. God, this was so selfish. I'm such a jerk. I just thought that you might have felt the same way. We had that one night, I wondered, but I was wrong, and I'm sorry. Please don't make me leave. I promise I will shut up or talk about anything you want. I just. I can't think of spending the rest of my life without you, in whatever capacity you'll have me. Please. Chris."

She said that entire monologue of complete dread in one breath and now needed a second to take another. In this time, she looked over to see Christen's face grow angrier, which lead her to open her mouth to speak again, but she was cut off. 

"Of course, I feel the same way, you fucking wreck of a woman." She sighed her hand dropping, those gorgeous multicolored wavy kinks and curls falling in front of her face. She looked back up at Tobin, who must have felt stunned in the moment, her face not hiding her feelings. "You left me that night. You left me lying in my bed alone. Now it's the end of the world, and you want to tell me it was a mistake."

"It was a mistake," Her brain started to fire again, pumping out feelings and emotions and forming them into words. "That night was the best thing that ever happened to me. I was so afraid you wouldn't feel the same way. I left. I didn't want to ruin what we had, so I left before we could. It was stupid. I was stupid. I thought if you didn't feel like I did, that our friendship would be over. I thought if I couldn't have you like that, forever, always, then I at least wanted to be your friend. I thought… no, I knew, I couldn't live without you in my life, even if it was from afar. 

"So you waited until now?"

It was a legitimate question that deserved a legitimate answer, one that was from the heart, and above all, honest. "I thought if you rejected me, at least I would only have to survive a couple of hours without you."

There was a moment, a precious second, that passed before Christen shut the door over. 

"Sit down," she commanded, sounding drained, sounding wrecked and ready to pass out. "You got to speak, and now you need to listen." 

Together, yet apart, with enough space between them to fill an entire novel worth of words, they both took a seat on the couch, facing each other, finally facing what they both needed to for so long. 

"I'm going to move past how completely selfish it is to tell someone you love them when it's the end of the world. I think you know how fundamentally fucked up that is." She watched as Tobin nodded, then continued in a more somber tone. "I've been in love with you since the second I met you. It was on the field, junior year of college, you kicked a ball at me, hit me in the head, and ran over to apologize."

"I remember," Tobin smiled. 

"But what you don't remember because I never told you was in that moment, when you smiled at me, you became the focus of my attention to the point where it was hard to process a life without you in it." She took a breath, looking away, towards the television, to the clock still steadily counting down. "I friended you. You accepted it. We messaged back and forth, mainly about soccer."

"That's all I knew how to talk about." She interrupted, defending herself.

"I didn't mind. I just wanted to talk to you. I would have talked to you about sand." She looked up and watched Tobin settle herself. "You dated other girls. I dated other girls. It didn't matter. You mattered to me. Nothing compared to the feeling I got in my chest every time you texted me. Not a single touch from another person compared to the way it felt to just see you. But that was the thing; for years, you were an entity in my life, something I couldn't touch. Even on the national team, when we could hug and be close, you were still unreal to me."

The clock on the screen read the last hours of the world. Tobin had been in that apartment for thirty minutes. 

"But one day, and I would be lying if I said I didn't remember the exact day, the exact moment. One day you looked at me, and you thought I wasn't watching you, which was ridiculous because I watched you like a lighthouse keeper waiting for a ship that never arrives. You looked over at me and smiled. It clicked in my mind that you felt that same way for me as I did for you. I knew it was all real, and all the years I spent wondering were over. You loved me, and I could see it; I just needed to wait."

"Wait for what?" she hypocritically asked. "Why didn't you just tell me?"

"Because you're careful, and it's wonderful and maddening." She leaned back against the armrest. "You are so careful. You are hesitant about everything that isn't soccer. You develop ideas like the earth forming, methodical, and cautious, and most of all slow. I couldn't rush you. I knew in your head you were building us a home and all I needed to do was wait, and it would be perfect."

That was true, and there was no way to fight the idea or push back. She thought about the nights she spent awake staring up at the ceiling in her bedroom, imagining the life they could have together. She spent the hours before falling asleep, thinking of a time when Christen would be asleep next to her. And maybe that was it, why she ran all those months ago, leaving the girl she loved in bed alone. Maybe she ran because the power of the idea no longer being just an idea blew her from under the covers and forced her out the door, out of a life that could blow up. That could be a viable idea, something they could spend days talking about, coming to a logical conclusion, a conversation that simmered on low until it was fully cooked, and they could both feel content in the full explanation, but the world was ending. 

"I'm so sorry for leaving you that night," Tobin settled on, hoping that was enough for what should have been a much longer conversation. "I promise I will spend the rest of my life making up for it."

And that was easy to promise, even if all of this was one big mistake, a thought Tobin still had rolling around in her brain, a shred of hope that all of this was thousands of scientists making the same mistake over and over, and the world would be fine. Even if that was true, she could make that promise a million times over because that had always been the plan. She had always planned to spend the rest of her life making up for lost time. 

She leaned forward, reaching across and taking Christen's hand. "What do you need me to do?"

Her eyes were a little bloodshot from crying and a little from drinking, but they were still powerful when she gazed over to Tobin. "Make love to me."

There was no hesitation, there was no time to be unsure of what she said and the meaning behind it. Tobin moved ahead, though slowly, kissing her the way she deserved. Pressing the lips together gently, letting her tongue find its way past her perfectly plump lips, letting the taste of whiskey and salty tears fill her. She moved slowly to lay Christen down on her back, her head resting on the grey throw pillow, her hair haloing out around her. She was slow to slip her hand under her sweater and feel that she wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath, just a thin bra that did nothing to hide how her nipples were already hard. Tobin squeezed, gentle yet with enough firmness to force a moan out of Christen, which prompted her perfect woman to bite down on her lower lip and pull, a move that always served to take Tobin from a five to a ten in a flash of a second. 

They did this before, but it was a rush, something they did quickly before they both regretted it. It was months ago before the world was actually ending when it was all a big game on the internet for jerks to joke about. Tobin remembered having the thought in her mind as they rode in the elevator. She remembered thinking about it in the bar. She didn’t think about it a lot, the sex portion of what she wanted, her thoughts about Christen always fell in the romantic category, the ooey-gooey of domestic acts, like washing dishes or watching a show all curled up together. That’s how she knew she loved Christen and it wasn’t like the love she thought she had for other girls. She wanted more than sex. 

She only thought about how the sex would be on the days when Christen was in the locker room, and she was pulling her shirt over her head, and Tobin could focus on the expanse of her stomach and wonder how soft her skin was. The nights at the bar, when Christen leaned in extra close when she whispered secrets in Tobin’s ear, and her breath was warm against her cheek, that’s when Tobin let herself think about what it would be to hear her breathing heavily into her ear, saying her name, directing her on the right way to touch. 

And that’s how it was, when they did this the first time, Christen was almost just like Tobin imagined, the almost coming from all the things Tobin couldn’t have imagined she would be like. Tobin didn’t have the capacity to imagine the way it felt to have Christen straddle her lap and grind down while throwing her head back, her chest heaving as she came closer to that moment everyone strives to reach. Tobin was incapable of conjuring the image of Christen on her back, with her eyes closed tight as she was driving closer to the edge of that mystical cliff. Tobin was good at thinking up things, but she had no idea the levels of Christen and how it would feel to have her soccer toned legs wrapped around, pulling her in closer. 

The whole thing was overwhelming, and even when Tobin tried to slow down just a bit to try to experience the moment, it seemed like Christen was trying to put everything she had in it like she wanted to do everything that night. And in Tobin’s mind, she thought, in the end, after they were exhausted, that Christen wanted to do everything in that night because she didn’t want to do it again. So it started with a rush of half-drunk kisses in an elevator and ended in Christen’s sheets. It lasted a good amount of time as far as sex goes, but it wasn’t long enough in Tobin’s mind because she realized after they were both laying on their backs, half-covered in light blue sheets, staring up at the smooth ceiling, that she hadn’t thought about the sex that much before because if she had she would have tried to do that a long time ago, and she knew somewhere deep down, once she did it, she wouldn’t want to stop, and that night, she thought Christen wanted to stop. 

But she wasn’t fighting with herself tonight, as the numbers counted down on the television and the sun started to set, lighting the once bright room in soft orange, Tobin didn’t fight the idea of being with Christen forever. 

However, Christen was rushing, she was pushing past slow and heading into fast. She clawed at Tobin’s shirt, ripping it off and running her hands over every inch of exposed skin. She was quick to work the drawstring of Tobin’s joggers, quick to push them down her thighs, quick to cup her ass. She sped up the kiss, licking into Tobin’s mouth, switching to her neck, nipping at her earlobe. 

“Come on, baby,” Christen panted, the first time she had ever uttered that name to Tobin, sending her mind into a wild frenzy. “I want you.” She bit her neck, digging her incisors in the tender flesh.

“Fuck,” Tobin cried out, pulling up and looking down. 

“Too much?” Christen questioned, blinking a few times. 

Tobin cracked a smile, “No, not at all. I just…”

“What?” Christen leaned up to kiss her, rough and sloppy and full of everything she ever wanted. 

“I guess there’s no point in moving slow,” Tobin said was the kiss broke, and she could feel the wet mark on her neck.

“No, there’s not,” she laughed, flashing a big smile. “If we had years, I would move slow, but we have hours, and I want to do everything I have ever thought about with you.”

Tobin nodded as slow as she could, a healthy amount of fear creeping up, “Okay.”

She let herself be flipped, she needed to give up control; that was the only way she was going to be able to do this. And she wanted it, deep down, she wanted to see how far Christen could push her. That night in bed, when Christen took control, Tobin found herself more turned on than she had ever been. That night she tried to hold back how much she loved it, she held it back from herself because she didn’t want to want it late at night when she was alone. But she would never be alone again, not ever, so she didn’t need to hold back, and neither did Christen. 

They were stripped before Tobin could think, and Christen was already kissing down her body. She had to tell herself to relax as her body jumped at every touch. She had to remember that this was it, this was the rest of her life. She settled as she looked down at Christen, who grinned up at her, as she kissed down her abs and to her hip bones, then to her thighs, where she gave another bite that made Tobin jump. Christen was giggling, she was enjoying how sensitive she was, she was taking pleasure in making Tobin jump, and for some reason, that made it all the better. There was something about the dark pleasure that made Tobin wanted it all that much more. 

And she got it when Christen stopped the preamble remembering time was limited, and getting down to business, running her tongue the length of Tobin, making her instantly relax into the couch. Her tongue was warm and worked like magic against her, and Tobin was losing focus almost instantly. Christen was moving quickly but not rushed, and Tobin zoned out and let it take over her. She let her mind focus on how amazing it felt and how much she loved the nails digging into her thighs. She listened to Christen as she moaned into her like she was the one getting and not giving as she loved it so much she was going to come from the whole thing. She let her legs fall open a little wider and heard/felt the hum of excitement. 

But she was moving to the fast rhythm, rocking her hips up with her long drag of Christen’s tongue and trying to keep her hips still when she switched to fast circles on her clit. She tried to keep her own moans at bay, wanting to only listen to how Christen was enjoying it all. Then it stopped, and she looked down, hoping she hadn’t done something to make this all go away. 

“Tell me when you’re close, baby,” Christen said with a big grin, her chin wet and slick, the sight driving Tobin to the ‘close’ notion she was talking about. 

Christen dived back in, short, quick flicks with the tip of her tongue, and it wasn’t ten seconds later that Tobin was pushing her fingers through her own hair, gripping her scalp and panting, “I’m close, god I’m so close.”

And she thought that might have been the end of it all, she would come hard against her tongue, and her fantasy would be complete, but she was wrong, and she knew how wrong she was when she felt two fingers pushing into her and reaching a spot within her that made lights go off, and she was melting into it. There was no cliff to fall off, no peak to reach; there was just Christen and the way she curled her fingers, pushing past Tobin’s first orgasm and bringing her right into her second without a break. 

It was after the second that Christen was crawling back up her body, kissing the spots she missed when she made her way down not so long ago. 

“I’ve thought about this every single night since that day,” Christen whispered after biting Tobin’s earlobe again, this time harder, now that she knew Tobin really liked it. “I’ve never stopped thinking about it.” She had her hand down, between Tobin’s legs, stroking slowly, waiting for Tobin to come down, no doubt to make her go right back up. “I’ve thought about what I wanted to do to you. How good you felt.”

Tobin had thought about it too, even when she didn’t want to, the idea popped in her mind. Mostly at night, when her bed felt cold and she felt alone, images of Christen naked and sitting in her lap would occupy her brain making her hand occupy the warm space between her legs. It’s never the same when you’re alone; it’s good, but with Christen was better.

It only took a few more dirty confessions from Christen for Tobin to bite her lip to stifle the calls of pleasure, and Christen pressed her lips to Tobin’s ear. “Don’t hold back. I want to hear you. We never have to hold back again.” 

And so she didn’t, because Christen was right, they had no reason to hold back, to play coy, to act like this wasn’t the best feeling in the world. Tobin had no reason not to say out loud that she loved the way she touched her, that she loved the way she kissed her, and when Christen slipped her fingers back in, Tobin had no reason not to say how she loved the way she fucked her. There was no reason not to repeat Christen’s name like a mantra until she finally got to the point when her brain could only focus on how great she felt and no longer produced words. 

Just a few minutes later, when Tobin got feeling back in her legs when Christen was smiling and laying soft kisses on her chest, Tobin realized that it was all worth it. Every second of her life was worth laying here with the love of her life. 

Christen wrapped her arms around Tobin’s middle and laid her head down on her chest, breathing lightly. “How was that?”

“The best thing ever,” Tobin breathed out, realizing she was a little exhausted from it. “I am going to return the favor as soon as I can see straight.”

Before Christen could respond with something sexual and sexy, she heard the growl of her girl’s stomach. “Are you hungry?” she asked, tapping her finger just above Tobin’s belly button. 

“No,” she protested, then her stomach growled again, louder, angrier, more demanding. 

Christen popped up, “Your stomach says different.” 

“My stomach is a notorious liar,” she grinned. “I don’t need to eat. I just need you.”

“You have me,” Christen leaned in for a long, slow kiss. “But I have plans for you, and they don’t involve you passing out from hunger.” She got up, pulling her body from Tobin’s. “Come on, we can eat what I have left.”

The chill in the apartment was worse without Christen covering her body like the best blanket that’s ever been made. She could protest and call for Christen to come back, maybe even promise a return in action, flip Christen on her back and take the next three hours and change, changing the way the world spun, but she was hungry. 

She spent the last day not eating, not drinking, not doing anything but crying, talking to her family, apologizing for not coming home. She spent two days praying, hoping that maybe if she got on her knees and crossed herself, In Nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti, that all this would go away. There was a chance the world revolved around her, and it was all those times she slept in instead of going to church, and if she just made up for it, the world wouldn’t end. But it didn’t work. 

Getting up, she decided on only putting her t-shirt on, bringing Christen’s hoodie, because even though they were alone and a naked Christen was a good Christen, the air was still a little cold. She wandered into the kitchen where the cabinets were open and almost bare except a few cans of vegetables, an open box of rice, and hidden in the back a can, Tobin recognized instantly. 

“Spaghetti-O’s,” she reached in, pulling the can down with excitement. 

“I bought those for you,” Christen admitted, moving to grab a bowl from the other cabinet. “I keep them in case you’re ever sick over here. You told me you don’t like chicken noodle soup, so your mom always gave you spaghetti-os when you had a cold.”

“You remember that?” Tobin handed her the can, her heart more full from a statement about sodium-filled canned fo-Italian food than anything else in the world.

“I remember everything you tell me,” she said casually like it wasn’t the best thing anyone had ever said. 

And maybe that was the thing about Christen. Maybe it was the way she spoke, or the way she moved, or the way she could make Tobin feel like the king of the world and the lowest peasant all at the same time. Maybe it was the times when Christen propped her up, made her feel like superman, made it clear to the masses that she was the one, the only one. And there were the times when she made her feel like she needed to beg for her attention, fight for it. That could have been why Tobin loved her and why she hesitated in loving her. All of that could have been the reason she spent hours thinking through the topic that seemed to creep in her mind every day around noon, right before practice ended. As Christen walked into the locker room, just ahead of her, but talking to someone else, but looking back at her when she laughed. It was those things that drew Tobin in and pushed her back.

But there were times, most of them being the times when Christen was with someone else when she was focused on another soul, and Tobin’s seemed to leave her body. When there was another girl when Christen texted and giggled and talked about women, and Tobin wanted to smash her head against a wall. When Christen dated her best friend, the one person in the world Tobin couldn’t say not to date because she was a great person, and she treated Christen like a princess, but that was the thing. Christen wasn’t a princess, she wasn’t close. She had no ambitions to rule the kingdom, she was just Christen, and the only one who knew how to treat her right was Tobin, and yet she was too scared to just shout it out loud. 

But now, she didn’t need to keep quiet. As the ceramic bowl rotated around in the microwave, the hum filling the air, Christen standing in a thin hoodie and now panties, probably the single sexiest sight in the world. Tobin gave herself a little kick for not doing this sooner, for not experiencing what it was like to wait causally for food with this girl half-naked and talking aimlessly about the most random of things. 

That was the best part about relationships, the way you could say a word and she would say something, and two hours later you’re talking about nothing at all, and yet you’ve discovered everything about each other. 

They had these nights, sitting at tables in unknown restaurants, and Tobin thought she knew every inch of Christen’s mind, and she hoped she exposed all of herself, except the fact that she was madly in love. So now wasn’t different; they still talked like there was a tomorrow, as Christen pulled the bowl out using a dishtowel to insulate her hands, setting it down and watching Tobin dig in. It was the same as months ago when there was a tomorrow, yet so different because they were both acutely aware that today was it. 

“I want to marry you,” Christen said without prompting, without context, as thin red sauce dripped down Tobin’s chin. 

“Right now?” she asked. The food was like lava, but it was nothing compared to how hot she was feeling with that confession. 

“Yes, right now,” she replied, grabbing a spoon from the drying rack and digging into the food. She took a bite. “Jesus, this is burning hot.”

“I know,” Tobin chuckled. “Imagine how I felt when you said you wanted to marry me. I was mid-bite.”

“I apologize. I should have waited,” she laughed lightly, melodically. “But it doesn’t change the fact that I want to marry you.”

“Okay,” it was an easy answer because Tobin had thought about it a million times over. “Well, there’s no churches or government officials, so I guess we’ll have to do it ourselves.”

Christen nodded firmly, she was on board like a Titanic passenger. “So what do we do?”

“What are the words?” Tobin asked, thinking about the three weddings she had been to. “Have and to hold.”

“For better or for worse.” And that was true. Tobin was there when Christen was in the state of mind that would make most people run. She was there with her after the death of the most important person in her life, when Christen didn’t give a damn about anything, when all she wanted to do was take another shot and lay in bed and cry. On the same card, Christen was there when Tobin thought her career was over, her entire life was done. She sat on Tobin’s ugly brown couch and stayed quiet for three days while Tobin wallowed. They were there for everything. 

“Sickness and health.” Tobin had seen her puke, seen her laid up with a giant ice pack on her knee when her mind was broken, and her body wanted to follow. She never left her side, and she never would. And when Tobin couldn’t walk, Christen was the literal shoulder she leaned on. Christen helped her limp to the bathroom, helped her go to doctors’ appointments, helped her be a human, and she did it with a smile.

“Richer or poorer.” It was Christen when Tobin was a broke college student, lasting days on meal cards. It was Christen when she signed her first contract, when she lived comfortably, and when she lived large. Every step of the way, it was Christen. 

“Until death do us part,” Tobin finished, taking her hand and squeezing it tight. “I do.”

Christen smiled, big bright, insanely excited, “I do.”

Tobin looked into the bright green eyes and flashed a quick smile, “That was easy.” She picked up her spoon and took another scoop of food. “It should always be that way.”

“Yeah,” Christen took her own scoop, “I think you’re right.”

“So what now?” she asked, mouth full, open, breathing in the air to cool the hot food in her mouth. 

Christen took a scoop and blew on the food, the sensible yet improper way to eat terrible microwaved food. “Honeymoon?”

Before they finished the thought or the food, Tobin was pulling Christen towards the bedroom. She had been there before, hundreds of times. She used to lay on the bed waiting for Christen to get dressed. She used to stop herself from peeking through the crack in the bathroom door where Christen was taking a shower. She used to pray for the strength to stay put when all she wanted to do was knock and ask if she could join her under the warm water. She knew that bed well, how it smelled like Christen, how it formed to her back when she laid down, how it called to her on the nights she slept on the couch just outside. 

Today was different, in so many ways, today was different, but the way that truly matters was the fact that Tobin could lay Christen down on that bed. She could pull off the hoodie and pull her own t-shirt off. She had the privilege of laying on top of her wife and kissing her softly. She got to reach down and pull her legs up and around her waist. She got to move those dark curls from Christen's face and kiss her neck, making her giggle, perfectly, gently, the way Tobin had always wanted. 

This time, in bed, knowing what they were going to do, Tobin wanted to go slower, wanted to feel it all. It wasn't a rush like that night, a hastily taken action that she only got to remember and not really experience because it went by too quickly. Now she got to feel Christen against her fingertips, got to run her fingers through her folds, touch softly, then hard, then slow, then fast, then a little rough when it was asked for. She got to dip her fingers in just a little, just enough to make those legs tighten around her. She got to kiss her neck, and down to the collar bone, and down lower to take a nipple into her mouth, swirling her tongue, making Christen push up and ask so sweetly for more. 

This time when she put her fingers in slowly, she got to hear to low moan, her name dragged out. This time when she stroked in and out, she got to feel the reaction when her fingertips glided past certain spots. This time she found it quickly, that spot a little far back, enough she had to re-angle her hand, she found the button and pushed. 

She remembered the night, the flash of ecstasy, she remembered hitting the spot, but it was all so busy she didn't quite remember where it was. She only remembered seeing Christen's eyes go wide and her head fall back. That may have been the first time, but she knew to keep doing exactly what she was doing, even though she was only half sure about what she was doing. It's a pretty obvious indicator that you're doing the right thing when a woman keeps repeating, "don't stop" in a hushed, strained tone. 

Christen was chanting the same thing now, only she added, "baby" at the end with "oh god," mixed in a few times. So Tobin didn't stop, and when she felt the contraction on her fingers, when she felt the wetness on her palm when she felt the legs around her waist tighten, she knew she did a good job, but she wasn't done. 

The second Christen had enough sense to loosen the death hold on Tobin's waist, she headed down, no kissing, no teasing, just diving, head first, straight on, straight shot, no chaser. 

"Shit," Christen called out as Tobin ran her tongue the length of her. "Go slow."

"Slow?" Tobin questioned after repeating the action. 

But who was she to question the way her girl wanted it? She could go slow, she could work her over for the last two hours of the earth. There were many times when she read the joke online that people would willingly die doing exactly what she was doing but did they ever have to put it into practice. Were there thousands of lesbian and bi girls currently nose deep into a beautiful woman, thighs squeezing their heads. The more she thought about it, the more she figured that was probably the case. It was the end of it all, and she was currently sucking Christen's clit into her mouth and swirling her tongue around until the soft moans turned louder. 

It was the end of the fucking world, and she was in heaven as she continued to move slow, long, languid licks up and down and around, dipping her tongue in ever so slightly, feeling Christen buck each time. And yeah, she could do this until she died, she could go out just like this, her life could end as she slipped her fingers back in and felt Christen's hand on her head, nails digging into her scalp. She could die with a smile on her face as Christen came undone underneath her. And if the last words she ever heard was her wife singing her praises, then she could pop out on the other side of this and high five the first person she saw. This was a good death, a noble death. 

But it wasn't the end. The countdown was still slowly counting down, and they were currently curled around each other at the top of the bed, and that was good too. 

"Where did you want to go on our honeymoon?" Christen asked, her head resting on Tobin's chest. 

Thinking for a second, she hadn't gotten that far, just asking Christen to marry her was nerve-racking enough, knowing she'd say yes threatened to make her pass out. "Maybe somewhere warm, like Aruba."

"I was thinking somewhere cold, like Switzerland," she answered back. 

"Cold," Tobin protested, almost shivering at the thought.

"Yes," she slapped her hand down on hard abs. "You can snowboard, and I can ski, and at night we can sit by a fire, wrap up in a big fluffy blanket, keep each other warm."

"Okay," She grinned into the air. "That sounds nice."

That was another thing Christen did; she always knew. She knew what Tobin wanted even before Tobin knew. She somehow read every thought she had. And now that they had talked and made love, Tobin knew for a fact that Christen knew her every thought because Christen knew how in love they were. And god, they were in love. It wasn't the type that floats away when another girl walks by; it was that deep-rooted love that takes over your soul, plants a tree in the middle of your stomach, and branches out all over your body. They were in love the way the ocean was deep and endless and frightening. Christen knew, she always knew. 

"Do you remember the first night we roomed together for the national team?" It was Christen talking and Tobin nodding. "We watched that scary-ass movie, and you climbed in my bed and got under the covers because you were so freaked out."

"I remember you asking me to come over because you were scared."

"Okay, yeah, maybe," she laughed, placing a kiss on her chest. "But you came over, and we were so close, and you were so warm." She snuggled closer, placing another soft kiss on soft skin. "I thought that would be the night. I thought about it all day. I thought maybe it would be late, and you would say my name and ask if you could get in bed, and we'd kiss and fall asleep together, and that would be it."

"Yeah," Tobin said into the ether. "I thought it would be our origin story. I wanted it to be."

"It doesn't matter," she shouted, rushing through her words. Christen popped up. "This is our origin story now. This is how we got together. This is who we are."

"Yeah!" Tobin cheered, sitting up. "So we've had our honeymoon, what's next?"

"Normally," Christen got out of bed and started walking around the room. "We come home, and we settle into normal life. Then…" she went into her dresser, taking out a pair of red cheeksters and a white tank top, both doing very little to hide her body. She threw a t-shirt and some sleep shirts to Tobin, hitting her in the face and chuckling. "Then we fast forward to the serious stuff, like having kids."

"You want kids?" Tobin pulled the shirt over her head, a grey Press t-shirt affixed with the number 23 on the front and back.

Christen sat at the edge of the bed, "You don't?"

"I want your kids," Tobin pulled the shorts on. "Not mine."

"Why not yours?"

"Look at me," she let her back hit the pillows. "I'm a wreck."

"You are," she confirmed quickly, without even trying to deny it. "But you're my wreck." She chuckled lightly. "And how could you deprive the world of another Tobin Heath?"

"If my kids were guaranteed my soccer skills, but not all this drama in my head, then I would go for it. But as it stands, how genetics work, most likely it would be the opposite. No athleticism, but all neurosis."

"Fine," she exaggerated, flopping down. "I'll have our children."

"Thank you, baby," Tobin said, testing the waters with the name and loving the way it felt coming off her tongue. "What's after kids?"

"Retirement, I guess," it was said with a shrug like she wasn't really sure she was right, or maybe she was unsure if she cared. 

Tobin watched as Christen's face went through a range of emotions. First, she had a faraway look, as if she was watching a movie only she could see. Then she had a smile on her face like that movie was the best thing she had ever seen. Then a tear escaped slowly, then another, and Tobin wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but she stopped herself. Then Christen was smiling again and asking Tobin to look at the countdown. 

"Hour and Forty-Five."

Christen's arms stretched out, and her eyes closed, and she started to cry. This was waiting to die. This was what it feels like at the end; at least, that's what Tobin thought. Maybe this distraction, the sex, the fantasy life, maybe it was all just as fleeting as the breaths they took, and maybe that's why Christen was crying. Maybe she should be crying too. 

"I want our moments back," Christen said, looking up at the ceiling. 

Tobin moved forward, "What do you mean?"

"I want to go back to junior year in college when you kicked a ball at my head." She took a deep breath, turning her head to look at her wife. "I want to go back and tell you right then that I love you."

Now she got it. "I want to go back to senior year when Stanford came to UNC, and we all went out to that bar after." Tobin laid on her stomach, getting comfortable next to the love of her life. "I want to go back to you stealing sips of my vodka soda, even though you hate vodka, and I want to tell you that I love you." 

"God, I wanted you to notice me," Christen confessed. "I wanted you to want me."

"I wanted you," she corrected quickly. "I was so nervous that whole night. Every time you took my drink, I got this chill." She flipped over on her back and rested her head on Christen's stomach. "Trust me; there was no point in time when I didn't want you."

"Why did you tell me to date Kelley?"

This was the question she dreaded. They were destined to go through their entire lives together. It seemed as if that was the name of the game at the end of the world. Tobin could handle how much she screwed up, not asking Christen to love her. She could handle all the missed chances for romantic entanglements. What she couldn't handle was the story of Kelley and Christen.

"She asked me," Tobin replied, not knowing how to go into the conversation and come out not looking like a mess.

"She asked your permission to date me?" She sounded offended, yet she didn't move from lying flat on the bed, with Tobin's head resting on her belly. 

Tobin looked up at the roof, remembering the incident, remembering how it made her feel. "Not really. She asked if you were off-limits." It was better to stick with the truth; she didn't know how to lie to Christen, not now when these could be her last words. "We were playing FIFA, and I was winning. She asked out of the blue, it wasn't anything we had ever discussed before. She asked, 'is Chris off limits?' I asked in what way, and she said in a dating way." There was a chance this was simpler than she remembered. Maybe the overwhelming feelings she got from the conversation were hers alone. "I said no."

"Why'd you say no?"

Fair question. Tobin rested her hands on her stomach to keep them from flying in the air. "Because you weren't off-limits. You were, but you weren't." she took a second to breathe, to remember. "You weren't mine, even if I wanted you to be. I had a thought. Maybe Kelley was the one you were supposed to be with, and if I said you were off-limits, that I wanted you, and I did nothing about it, then I would be holding you back from being with a great person who I knew would take care of you."

Christen sat up, forcing the confessing woman to sit up with her. She looked over at Tobin with her head down, "She did take care of me." She reached out to touch Tobin's hand. "But she wasn't you."

"Then why did you say yes?" That was a question she had wanted to ask the day Kelley came to her apartment and announced that she and Christen had a date planned for the upcoming Saturday. 

"I can't tell you," Christen lowered her head, her face twisting in anguish. "I can, but it makes me sound like… I don't know… a heinous bitch." 

"Chris," Tobin turned all the way, crossing her legs and leaning forward. "You're the love of my life. There's nothing you can say that will make me love you less."

She huffed, looking up for a second, and finally admitting one of her secrets, "I thought if I couldn't have you, then Kelley would be the next best thing." She shook her head. "I know that's horrible. I know that's not fair to Kelley, but I thought you and I would never be together. You were so weird with me during that time."

"Weird?" Tobin's eyebrows knitted together. 

"A week before she asked me out, we all went to eat. You were sulking. You were upset about something. I honestly don't know why you agreed to go out in the first place, but that doesn't matter. You were upset, and I tried to take your hand." She squeezed Tobin's hand, "You pulled away from me."

"That was it?"

"No, there was more. It was a buildup of things. It just felt like maybe you weren't as interested in me as I thought. Like I knew, but I was unsure, and I couldn't push." It was all ridiculous now. It seemed so serious a year ago, but now it all seemed so stupid. "I lost hope. I can admit that."

"It's okay," Tobin practically flew across the bed and landed next to Christen, her arms thrown around her shoulders. "It was a lot on both of us." She kissed her cheek. "I'm not upset."

Waiting a second for Christen's breathing to even out, Tobin held tight, then added. "I wish I could go back and tell Kelley that you're off-limits. That you're mine, and I love you."

"She knew," Christen said as she leaned into Tobin. "That's why we broke up. She knew that I wanted you, that it was always you." She laughed a little. "We talked about it. I told her not to tell you." 

"To her credit," she smiled, "She never said anything to me."

"I wish I could go back," she rested her head on Tobin's. "After Kelley and I broke up, I wish I could go back and tell you that I love you." She looked out, at the wall, at nothing. "We would have had a year together."

"I think we've had years together," Tobin mentioned in a way that seemed so casual. "Even if we weren't together. We had years of loving each other."

"And that's good enough."

The funny thing about love that Tobin figured out while sitting alone in the dark, an hour after the world media announced that exact time the meteor would enter the atmosphere, break into a thousand smaller but equally as deadly meteors, and wipe out all life on the plant. After that news, when Tobin turned off the lights in her house, deprived herself of the sense of sight so she could focus on her own doom, she realized the thing about love that she had been missing this whole time. 

Love is still waters. It's a simple idea that grows. It's that perfect blanket of undisturbed snow, but then you see a single paw print. It's the ticking of a clock. Love is the low rumble of rain coming down on your tin roof. 

She made it so complicated for so long. She spent so much time chasing after the excitement. She spent years craving the ups and downs of what she was told was love. Every relationship has its ups and downs. But what is it when it's more downs than ups? What is it when it's so chaotic you can't remember how it began? What is it when it fills you with dread, the type of dread that you didn't realize was dread until you've been sitting in your car for thirty-six minutes because you don't want to go into your apartment? 

What is it when it the simplest part of your day? What is it when that person is your comfort? When they are the person you're excited to tell the dumbest thing that happened in your day? When they get upset with you and not at you. When even the thought of their face brings you calm? What is it, then?

And that's the thought she had, the conclusion she came to, the puzzle she solved. Now she was standing in the bathroom watching Christen take off her clothes for the third time in four hours, and she wondered why they got dressed in the first place. Now she was stepping in the shower her wife insisted they take, and even though the world was coming to an end in the next hour or so, she still felt calm.

It's safe to say shower sex is only a great idea on paper. It's something someone suggests, then you realize you have to angle a different way, and if your wife doesn't want to get her hair wet, you spend most of the time avoiding the very thing a shower is for. Shower sex always ends up in giggles, which is good because good sex should include some laughter. But by the time they got it right, Christen was pushed against a wall panting, as Tobin was pushing her fingers deep inside, finding that spot once again.  
They stayed in there until the warm water ran out. They took their time, taking turns; once one was done receiving, they immediately turned around to give, and then the water was freezing as Tobin came for the third time. And Tobin was drying her hair with a fluffy towel as Christen put on a different set of skimpy clothes, and Tobin thought she was just going to take them off her in an hour. Then she had a thought. 

They didn’t have an hour.

Tobin rushed out of the bathroom, grabbing her phone and looking at the countdown. They had forty-three minutes. 

“I need a nap,” Christen yawned as she moved into the room. 

“We can’t sleep, babe,” Tobin held her phone screen up. 

Looking at the numbers, Christen let out another little yawn. “Set an alarm for thirty minutes.”

“Thirty!” Tobin protested, looking back at her phone, then up to a clearly sleepy Christen. 

“Love,” she said, already getting into bed. “If I don’t nap, I will be grouchy for the rest of the time.” She got in the big bed, pulling the blankets up and patting the spot next to her. “Get in bed. I want to sleep next to you.”

“Okay,” she didn’t protest. Happy wife, happy rest of your short life.

Doing as she was told, wishing she had fifty years of listening to Christen give her gentle commands, Tobin got in bed and set the alarm for thirty minutes. She sank low in the pillow-top mattress and let Christen snuggle close to her. 

In her mind, even if Christen did sleep, there was no way she would fall asleep. Tobin vowed to stay awake and just watch Christen. She wanted to watch her breath, watch her dream. She wasn’t going to waste thirty minutes on her own stupid dreams when she could spend the entire time watching her wife find peace. 

That was her plan. 

But her alarm was blasting, and she woke up.

“I fell asleep,” Tobin yawned. 

Christen stretched her arms out, “Wasn’t that the point?”

“I didn’t think I would,” she felt a little embarrassed but then remembered they have less than fifteen minutes, and that wasn’t an emotion she had time for. “What now?”

Christen sat up, her hair was a little wild, and Tobin wished for a million years of seeing her in the mornings. Tobin watched her closely as she looked around the room, towards the closed blinds. The outside was dark now, it was late, or maybe early. Time didn’t matter. 

“I want you to tell me the first thing you thought when you saw me,” Christen said as she laid back down.

So this was how they were going to spend the last of it, lost in their memories. It was as good of an end as any. 

Tobin laid back in bed, “I thought, oh shit, I just hit that girl.” She laughed, Christen, slapping her hand down on her chest and telling her to be serious. “I thought wow. Then my head got a little foggy. And honestly, I think I blacked out.”

“You don’t remember our conversation?”

“I remember thinking, “don’t screw it up, don’t screw it up, don’t screw it up” a million times.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, babe, but you totally screwed it up,” she laughed out loud. “But you recovered.” She sat up, looking at Tobin. “I said, if your kicks were going to be wild all night, it’d be an easy win for us. Then you apologized. Then you bragged about being the number one midfielder at UNC and were very cocky for about twenty-two seconds. Then you told me I was pretty. Then you said you had to go, and you ran away.”

“I didn’t run away,” Tobin protested, the memory of the events becoming clearer in her mind. 

“You totally did,” Christen argued. “You said, “you’re really pretty,” then immediately after, you almost shouted “I’ve gotta go,” and then you ran full speed to the other side of the field.”

“Well,” Tobin sat up a little. “You’re really pretty, and I did have to go.”

“Don’t worry,” she scouted closer so they could hold hands. “It’s what made me fall in love instantly.”

“Me being a wreck?”

“You’re adorable when you’re a wreck.” 

Blushing, this kind of embarrassment she had time for. “So I guess the first time you saw me, you thought I was adorable.”

“The first time I saw you was before warm-ups. You were jogging and didn’t see me. I thought you were hot. I told Kelley, and she told me your name. I looked you up before warm-ups. Turns out you were the number one midfielder in UNC, the country, really. I think that’s what made you half a minute of cockiness even cuter; it was true, you were just really bad at expressing it.”

“So you kind of knew me,” she smiled at the thought. “The ball hitting you was fate.”

“Everything was fate,” she added; she was starting to tear up. “Every single second we had together was fate, down to this right now.” She looked down at Tobin’s phone, the countdown getting lower. “If I had the last four hours of time to do over again, I would spend them this exact way.” A tear slipped past her blinking eyes. “If I had my whole life to do over again. I would spend it with you.”

Tobin felt the pressure behind her eyes, “Can I tell you one more quick story?”

“Of course,” she smiled, reaching out and taking her wife’s hand.

“National Team, your first camp,” she began, knowing she needed to tell this one quickly. “In the hotel, that first night, I rode the elevator up and down for an hour. When we saw each other right before practice, and you hugged me, I had never felt so whole in my entire life. The entire practice, I thought, if I could have her on this field, in my room, mixed into my entire life, I could be happy forever. Then I got this weird idea after practice. I overheard you talking about maybe going out that night, so I got dressed and got on the elevator. I didn’t know what floor you were on. I thought if I saw you if we met up, then we could go out together, and we could talk and I could tell you how I felt. I went from the first to the eighth floor forty-eight times. You never got on.” Now she was crying. “I thought maybe that was God’s way of telling me to wait, that I wasn’t ready.”

“I took the stairs.” 

“What?”

“I was on the second floor,” she smiled through her tears. “I walked down the stairs, and I knocked on your door, but no one answered.”

“You’re kidding,” Tobin huffed.

“Nope,” she moved, so their legs were tangled together. 

Tobin pulled her in as close as she could, “So you felt it too when we hugged?”

“I feel it every time we touch.”

Tobin wanted to be angry, she wanted to hate herself, she wanted to do a lot of things, but the only thing that made sense was to look over at the countdown, as it clicked to the last two minutes. She felt Christen shaking, heard her cries. 

“Listen to me,” Tobin said quickly, holding tight to her. “This isn’t it, okay, it can’t be. I don’t believe it. I never have. There has to be something after this. Another life. Another world. Something else.” She moved so they could look into each other’s eyes. “Do you hear me? There has to be something more. I don’t care how long it takes. I will find you again. Okay?”

“Yes,” She sniffled. 

“Trust me,” she squeezed tighter. “You are my soulmate. This is not the end of us.”

It had to be true, or what was this all for. There had to be something else. She had to hold onto the idea as the last minute came up. She had believed it, or it would be impossible to survive the last seconds. 

And so, with all the hope she had left in her world, she leaned forward and kissed her wife. She wanted to let her mind wander as they kissed through their tears. She wanted to remember all their moments. She wanted to think of all the times they could have had. She wanted to think of them growing old, of them loving each other for a hundred years. She wanted not to think of anything but Christen, and she decided the best thing to do was stay in the present, in the kiss. 

As it broke, as the countdown stopped, they pressed their foreheads together, and Christen looked down at the phone. 

“I don’t understand,” she looked around. “Were they wrong?”

“Maybe the count was off,” Tobin looked around the room.

“What do we do now?” she was still shaking.

Tobin gripped tighter to her hands, “I don’t know. But I’m glad I get another chance to say I love you.”

“I love you too,” she smiled the best she could. 

There was a flash; even through the closed blinds, they could see the flash.

Tobin looked to her, knowing.

“I’m scared,” Christen admitted. 

“Don’t be,” Tobin smiled. “I got y


End file.
